Karen Goetz
Karen Goetz
....and be delighted once your selfish consternation subsides?
The other night I reached into my larder because I knew I had a 1996 Huet vouvray sec in there, a Clos du Bourg that I'd purchased at vintage release. It was time. I was ready. I grabbed the '96 Clos du Bourg and opened in in the half light of my darkened kitchen. Aromas flew out of the bottle and I smiled to myself... aaah. I had candles going and everything for a solo COVID dinner with myself. The room smelled like spices and spring onions and garlic from the Alaskan halibut I'd seared and braised until the flesh was barely translucent in the center and crunchy at the surface resting in the cast iron pan. I knew the center was perfect because the beautiful fish was just starting to collapse in its juices. I was curious to see how the richness contributed by the vineyard would merge with the richness of this splendid poisson. And how the cut of the sec would rub nicely against the fat grain of the fish in the gustatory diversion of this particular intercourse.
I poured a short amount into my glass and admired its golden hues: crystal clear but molten, honeyed gold. 1996 was a non-botrytis year. Raising the glass to my fervent lips I had a moment of doubt as the bouquet registered way too rich for sec... or maybe it had begun to oxidize and lose its balance? The aromas were fresh and mineral but felt almost oily in my nose. I took a sip and for a split second I was confused at the opulence. Goddammit has this bottle lost its structure to age and laziness?
But I was wrong. In the next flash I knew I had opened the wrong bottle and sacrificed one of my few 1er Trie, Moelleux Clos du Bourgs. Ach. Scarcity can make one hold on too tightly to material things.
I almost laughed at my mistake and I wondered how this wine would be as part of a meal, not as dessert or a separate course afterwards. The bottle was stunning with dinner. It melded with the fish. It was one of those experiences where the food and wine together become their own creature. Haunting but precise presence in each other's company. And I got to experience it by total accident.
The wine's minerality (white, crushed stone) was not muted by its richness (not sweetness, too simple a descriptor for this complexity!). It was ardent and self-composed at the same time. This wine had a fine bead of acidity that kept it light on its feet. No heaviness whatsoever and the "oiliness" was a tactile sensation in both mouth and nose that provided elasticity against the spices and minerals. It was like a ripe pear on a tree that just got stung by a bee.
Reader, I married them.
The other night I reached into my larder because I knew I had a 1996 Huet vouvray sec in there, a Clos du Bourg that I'd purchased at vintage release. It was time. I was ready. I grabbed the '96 Clos du Bourg and opened in in the half light of my darkened kitchen. Aromas flew out of the bottle and I smiled to myself... aaah. I had candles going and everything for a solo COVID dinner with myself. The room smelled like spices and spring onions and garlic from the Alaskan halibut I'd seared and braised until the flesh was barely translucent in the center and crunchy at the surface resting in the cast iron pan. I knew the center was perfect because the beautiful fish was just starting to collapse in its juices. I was curious to see how the richness contributed by the vineyard would merge with the richness of this splendid poisson. And how the cut of the sec would rub nicely against the fat grain of the fish in the gustatory diversion of this particular intercourse.
I poured a short amount into my glass and admired its golden hues: crystal clear but molten, honeyed gold. 1996 was a non-botrytis year. Raising the glass to my fervent lips I had a moment of doubt as the bouquet registered way too rich for sec... or maybe it had begun to oxidize and lose its balance? The aromas were fresh and mineral but felt almost oily in my nose. I took a sip and for a split second I was confused at the opulence. Goddammit has this bottle lost its structure to age and laziness?
But I was wrong. In the next flash I knew I had opened the wrong bottle and sacrificed one of my few 1er Trie, Moelleux Clos du Bourgs. Ach. Scarcity can make one hold on too tightly to material things.
I almost laughed at my mistake and I wondered how this wine would be as part of a meal, not as dessert or a separate course afterwards. The bottle was stunning with dinner. It melded with the fish. It was one of those experiences where the food and wine together become their own creature. Haunting but precise presence in each other's company. And I got to experience it by total accident.
The wine's minerality (white, crushed stone) was not muted by its richness (not sweetness, too simple a descriptor for this complexity!). It was ardent and self-composed at the same time. This wine had a fine bead of acidity that kept it light on its feet. No heaviness whatsoever and the "oiliness" was a tactile sensation in both mouth and nose that provided elasticity against the spices and minerals. It was like a ripe pear on a tree that just got stung by a bee.
Reader, I married them.
